Re-write Destiny
by green.pepsi.cola
Summary: A mysterious new kid rolls into Dogtown, challenging pretty much everyone they meet in order to surf where they want. Everyone, that is, except Stacy. What will it take for the New Kid to shed their tough skin? Are they 'doggy' enough to survive? Expanded re-write of 'Unwanted', which is better than the original. Feel free to compare. Lots of OCs, to keep it interesting.
1. Danger in Dogtown

(DISCLAIMER: Lords of Dogtown does not belong to me, and neither does the music. Only Danger does.)

" _We were laughing in a daydream; with the world beneath our feet.  
_ _And the sun shined on the water, where the skies and the ocean meet._

 _We were spellbound; oh, spellbound.  
_ _We were listening down a rainbow, as the leaves fell to the ground,  
_ _whispering as we tumbled, and the wind laughed at the sound._

 _We were spellbound; oh, spellbound.  
_ _We were spellbound; oh, spellbound._

 _We were children in the garden, where the flowers kiss the sky;  
_ _And the birds sang out in wonder, as the day went sailing by._

 _We were spellbound; spellbound.  
Oh, spellbound; spellbound, oh."_

 _-Daydream_ , Robin Trower

 _Chapter 1: Danger in Dogtown_

She sat, the brown paper-wrapped whiskey bottle pressed to her lips, deep in thought. She had come so far; and yet, it felt as if she'd gone nowhere. Her latest trek had been from Texas to California, her only possessions a plain, lime green and hot pink surfboard strapped to her back, a switchblade, and very little money in her pocket. On top of that, she'd just spent her last cents on this bottle. She travelled alone, with her random liquor to keep her company and the clothes on her back to keep her warm; this consisted of a pair of plain, black board-shorts, a neon blue tank top, a pair of white-and-black-striped 'arm warmers', which were essentially the sleeves cut off a tightly-fitting, long-sleeved t-shirt with some elastic sewn into the top to hold them up on her arms, and a plain, old, ratty, black zip-up sweatshirt to cover it all.

She wasn't sponsored, she wasn't a professional, she didn't even compete; surfing was simply her way of letting go. And she could let go well, someone would later tell her. She'd seen some of the local guys from around here skate or drive by and glance at her, but to her unusual luck, no one had yet given her trouble. Perhaps, it was because she quite resembled a boy herself, or at least, she thought so. Her platinum-blonde locks, recently sheared, fell to her chin in ragged, razor-hacked, straight pieces; her shocking-green eyes pulsed with an intensity build upon anger and determination; and the hoodie, well, it was good camouflage for her non-boyish assets. Her hair always hung in her face, and her voice for the most part did not give her away, for she seldom used it.

On this particular summer morning, her back pressed to a pylon underneath a seedy-looking pier, she watched four young surfers paddle out into the froth, after at least an hour of being harassed by what appeared to be older, more-experienced riders. It felt kind of odd watching, like an intruder on something sacred, but hey, outta sight, outta mind... she was well-hidden. The more active three took turns charging each wave, careful not to ruin each other's swell, and the fourth just kind of bobbed around in the water there, sitting on the surfboard and occasionally yelling.

She went unnoticed for a while, a silent watcher of the younger group, but the silence was broken when, to her horrendously-quickly changing luck, one of them spotted her. He'd been paddling back to shore, and their eyes had locked, though she did her best to try to break that eye contact and make it seem like it had been a coincidence, nothing more.

He wasn't anything special; not muscular nor very fit, but scrawny, with wavy blonde hair a bit longer than hers and sharp-looking features to his face, almost vulpine. His face was graced with a scowl. He appeared to be both the youngest and shortest of the group. She got to her feet and made to walk away; maybe, he was just looking in her general direction by coincidence, and hadn't actually seen her propped up there. She turned to move, but her original luck had definitely run out. She was found out.

The short kid pulled himself from the water as quickly as he could, carelessly tossing his board onto the sand, marching up the thin strip of beach where she stood, grabbed a large handful of her hair, and pulled it back. Hard. "Oi!" She yelped.

Her neck was straining as the kid looked at her face, the artery pumping quickly in her neck. Her tongue was like a pile of wet gauze in her mouth; unable to make a sound, she tried to appear as calm as humanly possible whilst in this uncomfortable position, practically bent over backwards. She could've reached for her blade, but her entire body froze, being held in such an awkward position. She stared up into the blue, cloudless sky, attempting not to give herself away.

"What're you doin' here, dude?" He practically hissed, sizing her up. Mistaking her for a guy, she wagered.

"Drinking. What's it look like?" She answered in a low, crackly voice, avoiding eye contact as he tried fairly hard to gather it.

"Don't look like it. Looks like you're fixin' for a dip." After this, she unknowingly gave herself away not by her voice, but by the hoodie she wore. The weak zipper unzipped slowly of its own accord, sliding down to reveal her green tank top. It wasn't a great-for-hiding-your-chest top, spaghetti strapped with about two inches of flat abs exposed below. In addition, it was pretty low-cut, as it had been something she'd pinched from a trash bag on a curb somewhere along her journey. She had only a triangle bikini top under it, and it didn't help her situation any that the shorts she wore hung low on her waist, thanks to being slightly too-big. Her secret was out.

He released the death grip on her hair in mild surprise as her senses came back to her, and she swung the bottle in his direction, dangerously close to his head, close enough to make him let go - but not close enough to actually hit him with it. She reached for her blade in her wax comb pocket, but thought better of it; she had no intention of having a run-in with the local law enforcement of Venice, California for any reason, any time soon.

A second boy clambered from the waves, heading in their direction. She turned to leave, but the blonde she had inconveniently met beforehand grabbed her hood, yanking her back. She considered slipping out of the hoodie, all she'd need to do was unzip it the rest of the way and slip her arms out, but decided against that course of action, slightly-curious as to what this new person had to say.

The second guy looked as if he could do some damage to a person. Sun-streaked brown hair in tight, crazy curls, considerably flatter than it would've been if he'd been dry, muscular-yet-stocky build, caramel skin...

"Jay, who's this dude, you know 'im? I ain't never seen him around here before." This kid was a real winner, she thought, noting his slight Spanish accent and that hint of some unshared joke layered in his voice as she was wheeled around. He was smiling, and it mildly caught the girl off-guard. She wasn't expecting this playful undertone to the exchange, given the first person's reaction to her being there.

"She's a chick, Mad Dog, and I dunno, she didn't tell me who she is. OR what she's doing here by herself, lookin' like a guy."

Damn him, did he have to give her disguise away to every-freaking-one he knew?

"Oh," Tony began, his face falling, eyes glancing down at her chest.

"You don't need to know who I am, or my business here. All you need to know is, I love whiskey and surfing," she shot back, taking another swig of said preferred drink and decidedly re-zipping her sweatshirt.

By now, the remaining two had made their way out of the water and over to the slowly-growing group.

"Tony? What're you guys...?" The tallest one with the longest, blonde hair half-way down his back, turquoise eyes, and a thinner build stopped mid-sentence and mid-step in surprise at the glare she shot his direction. This business of crowding around her like some sort of zoo attraction was starting to piss her off.

"This one here says she likes whiskey and surfing, Stace. You think we should let 'er rip and see what the real deal is?" Jay was asking.

She used the opportunity of conversation between the supposed-friends to glance at the other kid, the only one who hadn't spoken yet.

Grungy brown, shoulder-length hair, brown eyes, skinny, short, grubby-looking... not much to work with in the way of persuading him to move out of her way so she could pass unnoticed by the others and make her escape. He looked like he'd just crawled out of a dirt pile, despite having just come from the waves. She noted she hadn't actually seen him do anything more than paddle out on his board, shouting randomly at Jay and the other guys when they were about to be wiped out by a wave.

During the current conversation, Jay failed to keep a firm hold on the girl's hoodie, and she soundlessly walked away, really slowly. She got about two feet when Tony grabbed the back of her sweatshirt, not bothering to go for the hood. "Where do you think you're goin', chica? You love surfing so much, you're gonna surf. Get out there."

Why was he sneering? He closed the space between them, wheeled her around, and gave her a shove forward, but she caught herself before she endured any real embarrassment.

"Fine." She tossed her now-empty bottle down and stalked determinedly toward the water.

She stripped off her hoodie and her detached sleeves, tossing them carelessly into the sand, giving up on the disguise and clambering out into the rough surf. She only went under once, narrowly keeping herself from the harsh riptide that swept through the area and could potentially suck a person over under the pier. She came back up spluttering, the salt water running disgustingly out her nose. She wiped her nose on her wet arm to clear her face before grabbing the next swell. This time around, her moves were confident and smooth, with a bit of her own personal flair flitting through in certain moments.

At the very end of her run, she was about half-way through a rapidly-collapsing pipe when the water began crashing down around her. At the last possible moment, she folded herself in half, bending low on her board and speeding out the other end, ripping off with a half-flip. After charging a couple more swells with no great disasters, she paddled back toward shore. The dark-haired guy was cheering a little, and the curly-haired one elbowed him in the side, causing him to topple over easily as she stalked through the shallows to the shore and back the way she'd come.

"Damn, you sponsored? What's your name, anyway? You shredded those waves." The one she assumed was called 'Stacy' shouted, seemingly in-awe as she stepped out of the foamy water and onto the sandy beach once more.

"Danger. No, I'm not sponsored, and yes, I could kick your ass, so don't even try making fun of my name." She made herself clear as she stepped closer, taking on a defensive stance with her hands balled into fists at her sides, as if she'd need to hold off the group immediately.

"Whoa, for sure…" Stacy trailed, putting his hands up, playing offence as he took a large step backward.

"Don't doubt that. This chick can shred. I'm Sid," answered the dark-haired one, eying her up and down whilst offering his dirt-smudged hand, covered in dried brine. She unclenched her fists, looked down at it with mild disdain, but didn't shake it. She raised a single eyebrow at him, and he dropped his grubby, little hand.

"Heh, never mind him... he's a little… off. I promise, he showers. Sometimes," Stacy half-laughed. "My name's Stacy."

"So, you new around here? You got a nice ass, by the way," 'Jay' said stupidly.

She reached over before he could react otherwise, punching him square in the stomach as hard as she could.

"Yeah, I am. And that's payback for pulling my hair earlier. You got nice abs, by the way," she shot back, walking off, zipping her retrieved hoodie over her wet clothes, surfboard tucked under her left arm. "See you guys 'round - good luck with that bruise, sucker." She smiled wickedly.

"Dude... you okay?" She heard Stacy ask Jay with a snort, not looking back at the group.

"Hey fuck you, man…"

"Yo!" Tony shouted as she rounded the corner. "Hey man, party at my house tonight, the loud one on Cherry. If ya wanna come."

She looked back and tossed a peace sign in their general direction. Going on her way, she shouted, "right on, I might be there."


	2. Rebel Yell AKA the Party

(DISCLAIMER: Once again, LoD does not belong to me. I only own Danger, and any other OC you might find. Music does not belong to me.)

" _I'll always remember_ _; i_ _t was late afternoon.  
_ _It lasted forever, and ended so soon.  
_ _You were all by yourself, staring up at a dark gray sky;  
_ _I was changed_ _."_

 _-Cry_ , Mandy Moore

 _Chapter 2: Rebel Yell (AKA the Party)_

Danger came to the conclusion she had nothing to lose; therefore, she would go to this 'Tony' person's supposed 'party'. She was somewhat suspicious of this entire situation; what if it turned out to be a bunch of weird, rape-y guys just waiting around for a victim to show up?

She stashed her board in the back room of the house where a long-time friend was letting her keep it, and went on her way to Cherry Street, (what kind of street name was that, anyway?) not-quite drunk but not-quite sober. As always with parties that might become wild or out-of-hand, she brought her own liquor of choice, whiskey of course. This way, she could safely cap the drink and avoid having anything slipped into it. Her short, blonde hair flew freely, though it was rather messy for a lack of brushing today. Having no idea how the people around here reacted to outsiders such as herself, she'd made it a point to borrow some clothes from her friend Martika, who was letting her stash her stuff, and bring her along. Just in case she was shunned beyond belief.

"And he was alright, the band was all together; yes, he was alright, the song went on forever; yes, he was awful nice, really quite out of sight; and he sang all night, long…" the tune of 'Ziggy Stardust' blasted so loud from the house, the windows rattled as they approached. That was really saying something, as the song was pretty mellow and slow. A few of the guys hanging off Tony's front porch screeched along to the song, bellowing and hollering out randomly at passerby, who mostly ignored them. This could be heard carrying on nearly ¾ of the way down the block as they approached.

Martika, a normal, 19-year-old Puerto Rican girl about 5'9", was three inches taller than Danger herself. With waist-length, blackish-brown hair streaked from long hours in the sun, and gold-flecked, hazel eyes, she was as close to a goddess as Danger had ever known. She had defined curves and a deep, tanned skin tone, with full lips nestled peacefully in a heart-shaped face, and a button nose which Danger quite envied. Danger and Martika met when Danger was little, while traveling with her mother. The girl was three years older than her, yet seemed lightyears more refined. She'd lent the younger girl a black and neon green-splattered corset halter top, paired with wide-legged, low riding bellbottoms and a studded belt, her own black Vans, and topped off with a black newsboy cap.

11:30 PM, relatively early for an Alva party, found Danger and Martika traversing the dead-looking lawn, headed toward the smoke-filled insides of the medium-sized house. The girls had pre-gamed in preparation, leaving both a little more than tipsy already.

Once they arrived, Martika immediately sought out Jay, leaving Danger stranded by the door. She made a beeline for him and whacked him harshly upside the head, reprimanding him for treating her friend the way he had. As the older girl accomplished her task, she was swept off her feet by a slightly-drunken Tony, who was admittedly pretty short standing next to her. "Hey, chica Tika, where you been? You ain't been home in a while, huh?" He half-slurred, a bit unsteadily.

"Not when you come, I'm not." Her accent was coming out more than Danger was used to in the short time she'd been here, as she shouted "put me down!"

"No," Tony replied mono-syllabically with a determined sense of finality, toting her off somewhere, probably toward more beer or possibly some 'green smoking materials', as he was saying.

Immediately, Danger looked in the direction where Martika had originally headed and picked out Jay's short, dishwater-blond head from the sea of people. With a swig of her Jack Daniels, she slowly made her way over, shoving people out of the way carelessly as she passed. A tall, gangly red-head stepped back out of her way, motioning her through as she passed in a stereotypical 'after you' fashion, flashing a grin from his heavily-freckled face.

"Hey, kid. Got some lost-looking groupies 'round here," she said, startling Jay by giving him a rough shove. He'd been perching on one arm of a brown chair, and consequently plopped down into the middle of it, legs sprawled over the arm.

"Really?" He hadn't caught onto the fact that she was referring to herself, from earlier at the Cove. Maybe, it was because the hat was pulled low over part of her face as she took another gulp from the bottle she held, and he didn't recognize her. She wondered where Martika had gone, but decided it didn't really matter, since the girl lived in the area and knew most everybody there. Danger, on the other hand, only knew the four she'd met at the beach.

"Not right now, stupid, at the beach earlier. Y'all are duller than a box of crayons 'round here, ya know that?" Remembering how eventful her day had been, 'that was a total contradiction of the truth,' she thought to herself.

"Hey, I'm not the creeper who was watching people surf under a pier at 6:30 this morning, or sleeping on a beach." This was a true statement, if she ever heard one.

This conversation business was tiring. She scowled, noticing Jay's shirt was unbuttoned a couple more buttons down than she would've preferred, and she was frankly surprised the jeans he wore were still mostly on the lower half of his body, seeing as they were almost completely torn in half at each knee.

"Now, why d'ya gotta assume… okay, yah, I slept on the beach. I'll sleep there again tonight. What's to stop me?"

She added "sue me," when he crooked an eyebrow at her.

She sat down on a vacant couch next to him, popping her knees open slightly to keep other people from being able to sit on the couch as well and invade her private space, which was an astonishing feat seeing as unoccupied couches were scarce around there.

"You don't gotta sleep on the beach, ya know that, right? You could pretty much crash at anyone's place. We seem mean, but we're mostly harmless," he said, pulling a joint from behind his ear and fiddling antsily with it. Oh, god. She'd been trying to avoid this conversation. She didn't need lecturing from someone she barely knew.

"I don't need no damn charity, I'll get my own place before I stay at someone else's; I'm no couch-surfer," she shot back defensively.

"With what, imaginary money? You don't even have a job." He was now playing with his blue lighter, flicking the flint wheel repeatedly to make the clicking sound. He had made yet another infuriatingly-good point.

"I have a job," she muttered indignantly, lying through her teeth.

"Really? What might that job be?" It was obvious he didn't believe her story for a second, and told her as much with a derisive throat-clearing noise.

"Okay, so I don't have a job YET, but I'll get one! By Wednesday, there has to be some place around here that needs help," she threw out, more for the benefit of her memory than anything else.

"Of course, because loads of people offer jobs to scrawny, homeless girls like you. I can think of a few now – uh, lemme see, you could be… a prostitute, or… hmmm… the bag lady who carries her shit around in garbage bags; oh, or a garbage collector." He paused to gauge her reaction, which was unreadable. Damn, she was good.

He went on, "hey, maybe you could be a stripper, or a busker on the sidewalk with a guitar, who collects money singing horrible songs that force people to take pity on them so they give 'em a quarter… yep, bunches and bunches of opportunities, 'specially around here. Good luck with that one."

She hated how true his statement was; she swigged more whiskey from her bottle, refusing to speak any more about the subject.

He was now rearranging himself to stand. "Gunna go blaze this, ya wanta come?" He offered. "I could introduce ya to some people." She waved her hand dismissively, leaning back to stretch her entire body across the couch. He took this as his cue to exit, and headed down the hall to a smaller room filled with other people who were all hotboxing together. This group included Tony and his ex-girlfriend, who seemed to be arguing despite the mellow vibe in the smoke-filled room.

By about two in the morning, Danger was completely drunk, had a contact high from all the smoke she'd inhaled at the party, and had stumbled down to the beach, finding herself curling into herself, alone and hopelessly cold.

Back at the party, Martika could tell she was getting sucked right back into none other than THE Tony Alva's neverending drama. They'd stepped out of the smoking room, which was coincidentally Tony and Kathy's own bedroom, and were now standing awkwardly in the darkened hallway.

"Tika, babe, it's like, all Blanca. She's all over my shit, dude, all the time," Tony began, trying his best to look sheepish and apologetic, but failing miserably.

"Don't call me dude, _bro_ , you know I hate that lyin' shit. I know you were down her throat at PC's place, Kath tol' me. You say what _ever_ you gotta say to get us chicks bedded; hell, you'd probably promise a concert to the sultan if ya thought it'd get you in bed with one-a us. Fuck your fake apology shit! I'm too damn old fer these games, I'm out." Martika moved to walk away from him, determined not to let his smoothness break through her departure.

He grabbed her gently around the waist, keeping her from leaving. "Wait, babe, c'mere! I'm done with that shit now! It's you, only you Tik…"

Her eyes darkened as she whirled around, grabbing his shoulders with both hands and smashing their mouths together, then breaking away to shove them backwards into the nearest linen closet. She knew it was all lies, but couldn't admit that to herself. There was no way Alva would ever let himself be tied down to one girl, it wasn't in his nature. "I swear to fuckin' _Jes_ _ú_ _s_ , Tony, if you're lyin' to me right now, I will hire the mob to kill yer ass," she whispered as Tony ventured lower down her body and pulled her skirt down around her knees as he went. " _Lo digo en serio_ , I'm serious…"

She couldn't believe she was letting him get away with this again; using words and sexual favors to smooth over their past relationship speedbumps. She was almost disgusted with him… almost. Her drunkenness clouded her judgement, he was making her falter all over again. His over-confidence was getting to her, she'd had a soft spot for the bad boys ever since she could remember. It was one of her major downfalls.

She surmised that was probably how she fell so well into this crowd; it was generally full of those types. The kind, sensitive type was rare here due to the general roughness of the area. Mostly the kids from other areas who managed to weasel themselves into the fold, like Sid, were more likely to be that way. Him, and Peralta. He was one of those types, too; loyal, almost to a fault, but then again sometimes quick to react.

"Imma show you how _serio_ ," he growled possessively, much to her surprise grabbing her hips and jutting them forward toward his face. There was that glint in his eye, the one that broke her every time. A deep, swirly feeling washed over her as he went to work. The loud, bass-heavy rock music rattled the old, painted wooden slats of the linen closet doors, stifling their sounds.

This had not been her intention when she'd arrived; she'd totally intended to introduce her friend to some other people, but as usual, Tony had other ideas. She had no idea what it was that attracted her to a seventeen-year-old… oh wait, she did. That general smoothness, those hands, that hair… that mouth. She figured she would kick herself down the road, but decided to let the night take her where it would. Danger would be okay for one night without her, and she could renew her efforts to get the teen to move in with her at a later time.

The entire house he'd been passing had suddenly screamed, "OH SHIT!", indicating to Stacy that the Iggy Pop song ' _Success'_ , a popular genre for the neighborhood, was just ending at the Alva place as he rolled slowly past on his way home from work. He'd worked a weird shift, and for some reason was driving by around 1:30 AM when he spotted a dark-haired girl walking down the street, alone. She was pretty tall, so it couldn't have been Kathy; and anyway, why would she have been walking away from her own house? It wasn't Blanca; she was probably sucking face with Tony still. The next logical person would be Martika, a girl Tony had gone with before, but they broke up when he couldn't keep it singular. She'd been hanging out with Danger lately, trying to help her get acclimated to life in Dogtown and also to convince her to move into her place. The girl weaved a tiny bit as she walked, obviously in a less-than-sober state. Stacy, ever the gentleman, rolled to a stop next to her, and she quickly took notice, hyper-aware of her surroundings.

He turned down the window and stuck his head out awkwardly. "Hey, Martika, right? D'you need a ride home? I'm just coming from Noodle Co. Don't you live near me?"

"Oh, hey, yeah, Peralta, I'm not… not going home, though. I'm going to Erin Peterssssen's place. You know it?" She asked breathily, leaning her willowy limbs on his car door.

"No, but if you do, you can direct me. Hop in," he offered. "Oh," he popped out of the car and ran around to the other side to open it for her.

"You din't hafta do that. Anyway, 's this way…" She began attempting to give him directions to her friend's house with the cloud that was currently invisibly circling her head.

"So… you coming from the Alva place? Everything kosher?" He asked awkwardly, trying to spark at least some light conversation.

"Uhm, yrah… realllly dun wanna talk about it, but feel free to ask yarrr boy about his con-conquest tomorrrrow. I'm suree he'll gladly tell ya all the gnarly details…" she trailed, thinking back to her most-recent bad decision.

"Martika, I know you don't really know me all that well, but I'm not like that. Be safe, lady," he offered as he dropped her off at her friend's home no more than 15 minutes later.

"Thankshh, bro. Maybe I see ya 'rrround."

Stacy had to get out of the car and go around to close the passenger door, which Martika hadn't fully closed, oblivious to the fact that the seatbelt was caught in it. He shook his head at this, hoping her friend 'Erin' was actually home and still awake to receive her.

With that, he got back into his ride and headed for home, a half-hour later than previously planned. This Erin girl's place wasn't really that close to his house at all, though he'd lied and said it had been to make sure the girl got where she needed to go unscathed. It wasn't a good idea – for anyone – to be wandering around there, all messed up. He sighed to himself; how did he always get himself into these situations? Why was he always playing 'designated driver' to the entire city of Venice?


	3. Dirty Dishes, Bad Swells, & Empty Pools

(DISCLAIMER: I don't own anything except what I created.)

 **A/N** : This chapter will begin POV format. Most of the other chapters will be written this way in some shape or form. It's been expanded greatly since its first incarnation.

" _She sees them walking in a straight line, that's not really her style.  
_ _And they all got the same heartbeat, but hers is falling behind.  
_ _Nothing in this world could ever bring them down;  
_ _Yeah, they're invincible, and she's just in the background._

 _And she says:  
_ _I wish that I could be like the cool kids;  
_ _'Cause all the cool kids, they seem to fit in.  
_ _I wish that I could be like the cool kids,  
_ _Like the cool kids."_

 _-Cool Kids_ , Echosmith

 _Chapter 3: Dirty Dishes, Bad Swells and Empty Pools_

 _POV_ _– Danger_

Ok, so this wasn't really what I had in mind when I decided I needed to get a job so long as I was staying here. But hey, it was a job, right? It had to be done, I guess. That doesn't mean I enjoyed it, or that I'd be doing it very long. Before you jump to conclusions, because I know what you're thinking, it's nothing like that; I'm definitely not that kind of girl. Now, why would you go and think I'd do a thing like that?

No, I'm a dishwasher, definitely not a glamourous job. At Venice Noodle Company, the only place that would hire me with no permanent address to speak of, and no recommendations or references. What a crap job. But, at least I didn't have to wear a hair-net, only a stupid logo hat and t-shirt. And huge, bright yellow rubber gloves that go up to my elbows. So many people have now mistaken me for a guy, it is not even funny anymore. Nearly every dude I've met out here thus far under the age of 30 (and some over that age) have super-long hair. There were still some defining things that shouldn't have allowed me to be mistaken for a guy; I mean, geez, the shirt wasn't THAT baggy. Not to mention, I was kind of wearing a SKIRT. An ankle-length, brown skirt partially covered by an apron, but a skirt, nonetheless. Once again, Martika to the rescue. I don't see any guys walking around here wearing skirts, do you?

Well, anyway, I was in the back doing dishes in my silly 'uniform', trying to scrounge up enough money to rent an apartment or flat, or even maybe a motel room, when that kid, Stacy, came into the back. I avoided looking at him, silently praying, 'God, please don't let him recognize me', when, lo-and-behold, he did. And he immediately started laughing his head off, that is, until I gave him the dirtiest look I could muster.

"What?" I snapped.

"Nothing, nothing, I just didn't know you worked here now, is all. As… a dishwasher." He erupted into giggles again.

Suddenly, I wanted nothing more than to smack him upside the head, but realized I was holding a soapy plate and it probably wouldn't go over too well if I hit him with it.

"And just what do _you_ do? Must not be very important if you're standing back here making fun of me, smarty," I retorted, wishing some genius would get on with it already and create a machine to do this 'washing dishes' business.

 _POV_ _– Stacy_

I never expected to see her washing dishes in the back of Noodle Co., but here she was in front of me, doing just that. It was hilarious, I mean really comical. Her name was Danger and she was going to work as a dishwasher? What a contradiction.

"I'm a _busser_ , which is more than you can say, shorty. I gotta go," I countered, patting her head like a cat or something. She was pretty short, nearly six inches shorter than me, I would guess. And my job had a considerably more-appealing ring to it than 'dishwasher'. I'm no giant, but being at least 6", I'm kinda used to being taller than most. She looked like she could just about hit me with the soapy plate she was holding, so I decided to leave her alone. I didn't need to be knocked unconscious and lose my job any time soon.

Putting on my apron, I turned for the double-swinging doors, praying for the day to come that I could move into that coveted waiter position. There was one guy in front of me for it, Trey, but I didn't really know how long he'd last there with Danger around. She was likely to clobber him based on his personality alone. Grabbing my clearing bucket, I headed out to clean the empty tables, passing an occupied table of which contained one Tony Alva, by himself for once. Great. He was sure to fuck with me, making fun of my job. 'Stacy's a work-a-holic,' he would say. Even though we were close friends, he loved to rib me about being responsible. I did find it interesting, though, that he was completely solo during the lunch rush; I usually expected groupies to be hanging all over him if he was stationary. 'He must get so much ass every night,' I quipped in my brain, a phrase I would never utter in-person.

 _POV_ _– Martika_

I set Danger up with Randy, the manager at VNC, for that job. I knew no one around here would hire her, since she didn't have an address and was refusing to let me clear off one of the spare beds for her. Then, I sent her over there, after suggesting about five other places she should check out first. I didn't want her to get suspicious of anything, because if she knew I'd set this up for her using a personal favor, she would turn the job down out of sheer pride. That girl had the worst case of culture shock I'd ever seen. Kinda like a lost tourist who is overwhelmed with the choice of souvenir shops and attractions to choose from at Disneyworld. She's also got the worst case of pride of anyone I know. She'd just as soon sleep on the beach before she accepted anything from anyone, even her friends. Oh wait, I forgot, she'd already done that. The night before.

I would've let her stay at my place; after all, I was letting her keep her board and junk there, as well as borrow my clothes, wasn't I? Well anyway, now she had a job. A crappy job, which she probably hated (and would hurt me later for suggesting), but still, a job to make some kind of money, since she insisted upon finding a place of her own. I was sure she could work at Zephyr, too, but doubted Skip would give her more than a dollar per week. He doesn't even pay that rich kid Sid, which is also sad, considering the ridiculous amount of work he does around there to keep that shithole clean. The least Skip could've done was give him a few bucks a day for pocket money. Not that he couldn't just ask his parents for that. But, I guess he did whatever made him feel like he fit in…

 _POV_ _– Jay_

She was at that party a couple nights ago. We talked some, and mostly I jostled her about jobs and living arrangements, half-heartedly trying to steer her toward staying with Martika. Around two in the morning, I lost track her; she probably went back to the beach, since she was refusing anyone's help except Martika's like a stubborn ass. She wouldn't even stay at her one friend's house? That girl was almost as stubborn as me. Almost.

Martika was a nice girl, she drank and smoked some, but not so much that she got disgusting and draped herself over any old beach bum that so much as glanced at her, _unlike some people I knew_. Tony flip-flopped around between her, Blanca, and probably about 15 other girls on a daily basis. He could get pretty fucking disgusting himself, especially when he was shit-faced. Anyway, I'd gone down to P.O.P. at dawn, and the breaks were crappy; I'd never seen them so bad. I wondered to myself if she skated too, we could use another girl on the team…

But anyway, two weekends ago, we went to Del Mar for a skate competition, and I got second place, (wasn't it?) but Tony didn't place at all. He kinda got into a fight. With a judge, the dumbass. He went full-out 'Mad Dog' on that official's ass, and I kind of wished someone had one of those cheap video cameras to show him the footage later. Tony Alva, nearly frothing at the mouth, rabid with rage over losing a skating competition.

Stacy showed up, as an independent, I guess, since Skip wouldn't put him on the team. So, he touched the course, right? Just like almost everyone else. Anyway, after, a stupid official disqualified him, even though he didn't do anything wrong. Tony got mad and punched him right in the face, so he got disqualified, too. In the end, Stace got first place (if I remember correctly…) and lemme tell you, Tony was more than pissed. Oh well. He'd get over it. All the idiot adults in town were bugging out since there'd been a drought lately, but none of us 'good-for-nothing hooligans' could give a shit, cuz it just meant we got a bunch of empty pools sitting around - just waiting for us to tear them up with skateboard wheels. Drought, my ass. I loved the drought!

 _POV_ _\- Danger_

My shift ended at 4:00, and directly after work, I was on my way to Martika's, when I was ambushed by Jay, who almost crashed into me riding a longboard, a shorter, more practical version tucked under his arm. This caused me to fall against the front of the building when I lost my footing, trying to dodge him. Oh, joy. And there I was, wearing that stupid t-shirt and hat, too. I scowled at him, because he snorted and raised an eyebrow at me.

"HEY! Don't laugh at me, at least I HAVE a job. AND I got it before when I said I would, it's only Tuesday. What do YOU do? Yeah, nothing, that's what I thought," I almost shouted, I was so frustrated.

He kept laughing, doubled over now with giggles.

"If you don't shut your fat face, I'm gonna punch you again," I threatened.

"Okay… okay," he wheezed, "I'll stop. Next step - a house, or staying at someone else's place. Which reminds me, go live at Martika's. She almost always has someone staying there, why don't'cha just let her help? Ya know she will."

I hated his reasoning. Why was this guy giving me life advice when I barely knew him? When would these people figure out I didn't need any help? Maybe I was being stubborn, but I'd been on my own for four years, and hadn't needed any help from an outsider yet. I started walking in the direction of my friend's house, but my dear stalker had other plans.

"Where ya going?" He asked, moving alongside me slowly.

Geez, why did he have to try so frigging hard?

"Where d'ya think, numbskull? My uptown apartment? Martika's, of course," Danger answered snidely, picking up her pace just-slightly, though it was pointless since wheels would always move faster than feet.

"Wrong, you're comin' to the pool with me 'n the team," he insisted, grabbing my hand, dragging me in the direction of the nearest pool. "Tika's probably there, anyway."

"What pool? They're all empty. The drought? Jay? Are you even listening to me?" I protested; the boy was utterly infuriating. It was the most uncomfortable thing, being pulled along behind a skateboarding teenager, holding hands with him like we were in some sort of relationship. Which was definitely _not_ the case.

"No, I already tuned you out. And we ain't goin' to the pool to _swim,_ stupid; we're goin' to the pool to _skate._ Y'know, like, on skateboards? This piece of wood'm riding on. We don't need water," he stated simply, letting go of my hand and continuing to drag me by the elbow despite my ongoing protests otherwise. "Just shut up and come."

Duh. What had I been thinking? 'Of course an empty pool, you dolt!' I internally kicked myself.

"You're an ass, you know?" I answered snottily.

"Ya, it's one-a my best qualities, babe, duh," he retorted.

So, ten minutes later, we were entering someone's backyard. Or rather, Jay was slinking into someone's yard; I was being dragged, even though I didn't want to go. And there, Tony and Sid and a bunch of other people were already assembled. Fantastic. I was quickly introduced to so many people, I jumbled their names and faces in my head.

Peggy, Biniak, Red Dog, Shogo, Wentzle, Kathy, Blanca, Paul, who they called PC… some of these people had weird-ass names. I couldn't even remember all of them. Some were skating, some weren't; people were screaming, tackling each other, sitting on the edge of the pool, perched on the brick wall separating the yard from its neighbor… and there I was, standing stranded in the midst of it all, with the most-confused look I owned covering my face. Finally, I settled for sitting on the edge of the pool dazedly, my hat next to me as a random skater went flying over top of my head and disappeared behind me, narrowly missing shearing off the top of my scalp. And I screamed bloody murder, a glass-shattering scream that seemed to rattle the windows of the little white house… okay, you caught me, I'm being dramatic, but it was a little loud, because everyone was covering their ears.

"Sorry for freaking you out, Dish-girl," Stacy's head pops up over the small hill in the lawn.

"You idiot, what were you doing?!" I asked loudly, making a scene.

"Trying a new move… sorry," he mumbled, embarrassed.

"Wait, you're a i _dishwasher/i_? I thought you were a waitress. How much d'you make, 5 bucks a day?" Jay appeared from the deep end of the pool, where he had just abruptly stopped himself mid-stride, popping his board up into his hand using his bare foot. When had he taken his shoes off, the weirdo?

"Shut your facehole, you asshat!" I shouted at him, and he raised his arms in defeat.

"What'd I say?" He feigned, tossing his arms up in mock annoyance.

 _i_ _POV_ _– Stacy/i_

I hadn't really meant to freak her out. Really, I just couldn't stop, but found her kind of intriguing, and didn't want to seem like a total basketcase trying to find a suitable answer for her question. I also didn't want it to seem like I couldn't skate well. So, I'd lied. Later that summer, Jay would pioneer some of those aerial moves; but back then, nobody did that shit. No one went over the top lip of the pool, not unless they wanted a broken neck from landing on the jagged concrete surrounding it. Those early days were nice; no one knew any of Danger's baggage. She'd just shown up one day, and we'd all pretty much accepted her for the most part. I was pretty sure I wouldn't make it through that summer and come out the other side unscathed. I knew things were changing, I just didn't know what.

She was so… distant. Yet, so… oddly attractive?

My thoughts were interrupted when Tony skated up behind me, using the full force of his body to shove me over onto the concrete. I went down, hard, and heard guffawing drifting at me over the loud music; Tony had come flying out of the house, where he'd been fiddling with the radio for the umpteenth time, and purposely collided with me, sending me sprawling. I'd almost squished Danger.

"Speedwobble!" He screamed.

I grunted in response.

"Fucking Tony! He's heavy, help!" She hollered as I rolled off her, kicking myself for standing around daydreaming within Tony's vicinity.

"Sorry," I mumbled, again. Looking around, I spotted the house's owner, a mid-tone complexioned woman with long black hair, (her name was Calypso, but she'd insisted upon being called 'Caly' or 'Cal' when we'd met her earlier today) being pulled out of her seat as Skip arrived. Someone must've tipped him off about the new hang-out.

"Ack, I'm gunna murder you, mophead!" I heard Danger growl at Tony, lunging up toward him, but tripping and falling again on the concrete and skidding across the ground with a hiss into the grass. She sat up dazedly, looking down at her torn work shirt and the large scrape down her shoulder which was beginning to bleed.

"In your dreams, New Girl!" He taunted in response, shearing down into the pool.

"Let me help you," I offered, bending down to offer her my hand.

She shoved it away. "I'm fine, long-hair," she responded, moving to lean against the short wall I'd gone over earlier when I'd flown over her head. She put her hand over the scrape, keeping pressure on her new wound despite the searing pain her salty hands must've been creating.

"Suit yourself," I shrugged.

 _POV – Narrator_

Meanwhile, Calypso had been having a mini-reunion.

"Cal," Skip had said, pulling her right out of her chair and sweeping the woman into a hug.

Her sketchbook and pencils fell from her lap and clattered to the ground abruptly, and one of the pencils rolled along the slightly-sloped concrete that led down to the pool edge, dropping in.

"You wear it well, a little old fashioned but that's alright..." Skip serenaded Caly with a couple bars of 'You Wear It Well', and the older woman snickered hysterically, covering her mouth so as not to seem rude as he grabbed her hand and started swinging her around, continuing to sing a different part of the song. "'Cause I ain't forgetting that you were once mine; but I blew it without even tryin'. Now I'm eatin' my heart out, tryin' to get back to you."

"You're definitely no Rod Stewart, hon," she said, jostling him playfully. She reached back and tugged on a piece of long hair, then added, "but, you do look great when you pull this mop back away from your face. It's been a long time."

She was referring to how Skip pulled his hair into a low ponytail when he worked, the wispy front pieces too short to go back into the elastic band. He still wore it that way today, also clad in his white work overalls as he'd come straight from the shop.

"Maaaan, that song though... it's us, lady. At least you still live at the same address..." he added thoughtfully, referencing the end of the song and pulling her close to him to rest her head on him.

Calypso's head popped up from Skip's shoulder and they broke apart suddenly when the sound of skin skidding on asphalt assaulted their ears.

"What the fuck was that?!" She asked loudly, and one of the kids pointed toward a short-haired girl who was now laying on the ground. Caly turned again and glanced from Skip to the girl, a questioning look on her face.

"Ah, Cal, I think that's some new chick that's been hangin' around the maggots lately – 'Dancer', er sumthin'," Skip explained.

"That can't be her name. You gotta have that wrong," the woman tried not to giggle, walking quickly past the crowd and into the house to retrieve the first-aid kit. "I'll be right back, hon," she added as she passed Danger.

She'd instantly forgotten her earlier threat to Jay that she'd kick them all out the minute one of them got hurt, as this seemed like it would be a huge over-reaction to the current injury at hand. After all, it hadn't technically been a skating accident…

Tony had dropped into the pool, completely callous as to the commotion he'd caused. Those two were so obviously different, there was no way it'd ever work out between them. She'd most definitely be a distraction to his friend, who tended to get pretty infatuated with his girlfriends. He knew, obviously, because Stacy had dated his sister in the past. Though he'd never admit it, he could tell the kid already had a crush on the new girl.

"Let's skate!" He shouted, inciting the rest of the group who had paused to watch the incident to continue what they were previously doing.

Caly reappeared, placing the first-aid kit on one of her low tables and feeling a sense of deja-vu as she approached the short-haired, blonde girl with a roll of gauze and bottle of peroxide in each hand. Two injuries in her backyard in one week was a new record for her.

"Hey there, what's your name?" She asked and then chuckled lightly, adding, "Skip thinks it's 'Dancer', by the way."

"How the fuck's he know me? I never seen that guy before in my life…" Danger shot back, scowling. "It's Dan _ger_ , actually," she finally answered, putting emphasis on the second syllable of her name.

"Ah, that's Skip, he's the guy who sponsors the skateboarders. The Zephyr team is his team. They probably told 'im about you, especially if you happen to surf or skateboard. He's got teams for both," she offered matter-of-factly, neglecting to share her own persona relationship with the surfer.

"Alright, lemme see this battle scar," she motioned toward Danger's arm with the peroxide hand.

The girl reluctantly removed her hand, which was now bloody from touching the wound, holding her arm out at an awkward angle as Caly dumped some peroxide onto the gauze and began wiping it carefully, watching out for the small pebbles lodged in the arm. "These'll probably scar where these little rocks are," she advised as Danger silently waited for her to finish treating the injury.

"Whatever," the girl scoffed, trying to pull her arm away.

"Hey wait a minute, let's bandage it… wouldn't want you getting any infections," the older woman stated, retrieving the kit from its resting place. She wrapped the bandage around Danger's arm, who then stormed off.


	4. Bother

(DISCLAIMER: No characters except my OCs belong to me. The song doesn't belong to me either. It's 'Bother', by Stone Sour.)

 **A/N** : When this was originally written, I felt this chapter would be best told in songfic format. Note that this chapter contains confused Danger thinking over a PAST relationship, and it has nothing to do with any Z-boys. These LoD stories really are my babies, and even if no one reads them, I really do love writing them. So if you're out there, thanks for reading.

 _Chapter 4: Bother_

" _Wish I was, too dead to cry;_

 _My self-affliction fades._

 _Stones to throw at my creator,_

 _Masochists to which I cater."_

 _One Week Later_

Danger cried. She didn't know why; she had a job, was making friends, could even have a place to stay - that is, if she wasn't so stubborn and would actually allow Martika to help. Eventually, she could get a place of her own and pay Martika back. Maybe it was because she didn't quite understand herself. Confusion, overwhelming. She just sat there and cried, cried until she couldn't cry anymore.

After the pool experience in her first few days in the area, and after receiving her very first 'battle scar', as the woman who owned the house had said, she needed to get away from all the new stuff. There was just so much, new and old, to process. She had no idea how she'd handle it. Working at the restaurant sucked, and walking there every day from the beach was tiring. She'd actually resorted to smoking joint roaches from the dumpster behind the building during her breaks, rather than eating a lunch. By now, she'd sampled mostly everything on the menu, and she was already sick of the amount of olive oil she'd consumed over that past week.

People had been looking for her all day, but she had ignored them. She heard them calling out, yelling her name all over the beach, beckoning her back into reality. She didn't want reality right now; she couldn't let anyone see her. After only a week in Dogtown, she already had a small group of people she was willing to call friends. No one could see her cry; they would totally think she was going soft. After only knowing the town residents a very short period of time, that self-imposed, headstrong, tough-girl attitude of hers finally started to crack, something she couldn't keep inside anymore. So, she cried, like a little girl with a scraped knee – only this time, it wasn't a physical pain. Her physical wounds from the previous week were starting to heal, to knit themselves back together again, to regenerate the skin to a smooth, normal finish. This was a deep emotional pain, pinching on raw nerves as she attempted to process her new life in a new place.

" _You don't need to bother;_

 _I don't need to be._

 _I'll keep slipping farther;_

 _But once I hold on,_

 _I won't let go 'til it bleeds."_

Blade clutched tightly in her hand, pressing against the smoothness of her ankle, drawing dark red blood slowly and painstakingly. An odd place to decide to do this, this beach where anyone could find her if they really tried hard enough. She carved the letters mindlessly, not really paying attention to the word her brain was subconsciously telling her to deposit there.

Her head cleared enough to register the four-letter word when it was finished. It didn't read 'l-o-v-e', or 'h-a-t-e', or 'o-u-c-h'. It read, boldly and clearly, 'p-a-i-n'. Pain. Four letters seemingly so meaningless to others, yet they meant the world to her. She thought about herself, a broken girl with a broken heart and a pierced soul. The words rang fresh in her head as she pressed on the letters, tracing them with her index finger. As soon as she'd done it, she knew it was stupid. But, she had no other methods of coping. It was her only defense; hurt herself, before anyone else could hurt her again.

" _Wish I was too dead to care,_

 _If indeed I cared at all._

 _Never had a voice to protest,_

 _So you fed me shit to digest._

 _I wish I had a reason;_

 _My flaws are open season._

 _For this, I gave up trying,_

 _One good turn deserves my dying."_

The figure of shadow had kissed her, only her silhouette she could see in her mind's eye.

 _The two shadows far off were black silhouettes against the bright sky, as if only distant images observed by an uninvolved party. The noticeably-masculine form bent and kissed the feminine one with a sort of roughness and quickly broke away._

In a flash of bright light, the scene before her eyes morphed.

 _Again, a shadow-form of herself was seen, only she was sitting on the floor, small, compact, curled into herself. Again, the figure of the man was in the room, only he was standing, towering over her, with his back turned. Suddenly, he whirled around._

" _I'm leaving, An," the voice used her family pet-name, a shortening of her middle name, Anabelle. "And when I come back, I'm bringing your first client."_

 _He quickly removed himself from the tiny, cramped apartment they occupied._

The memories slipped away, fading out as her vision zoomed from the memory-room and into reality. Her eyes darkened, remembering back. She had been too young. Fourteen was too young for this calibre of relationship. Being on her own had afforded her certain freedoms not necessarily in her best interests; rejecting all authority, pushing people away was the only way to guard herself now. You couldn't get hurt by someone else if no one could touch you.

" _You don't need to bother;_

 _I don't need to be._

 _I'll keep slipping farther;_

 _But once I hold on,_

 _I won't let go 'til it bleeds."_

She'd been so stubborn, and knew why. In the past, she'd been assaulted, used for purposes unsavory for an impressionable young teen. Used as a drug mule, a prostitution ring messenger, nearly forced into the prostitution ring herself... her older sister's two-faced boyfriend separated and alienated the siblings, driving a wedge between them and then pulling the younger girl away from her elder sister whilst simultaneously blaming her, saying she'd initiated everything.

After that, she'd vowed never to let anyone 'help' her again, to take advantage of her naïveté. Her refusal of everyone's help, except Martika's, had been strong at the beginning, and folding when she'd agreed to accept the help had taken a lot of persuasion from said friend as well as Stacy. Stacy, the one she'd been choosing to let into her personal life. He didn't know everything, but he would eventually know enough. He called her 'Dany'. It was sweet, too sweet. It would ultimately be her downfall, the catalyst to end her harm-cycle. Little did she know.

Glancing down at the new wounds on her leg, she surmised they would turn to scars eventually, same as the tiny pock-marks on her arm where her scrape was. She pressed down on the 'n', the first letter of that old, other half of her sordid relationship's name, the one that made her breath devolve into sharp, rapid intakes, reduced her to a puddle of quaking jelly; the searing pain forming like the burning of so many candles pulled her out of this downward spiral and back into reality. She focused in on the sound of ocean, rolling in and out melodically, the most melancholy noise in the entire city. It was almost mechanical.

" _Wish I'd died, instead of lived._

 _A zombie hides my face._

 _Shell forgotten with its memories,_

 _Diaries left with cryptic entries."_

Someone was bound to find her soon. She knew they'd been looking for her, she heard their voices. When the time came for someone to actually find her, it nearly ended up being Stacy. Of all people, him.

"Dany?" He called, looking around half-heartedly. He was, in all honesty, beginning to lose hope.

He'd been passing on the pier overhead, calling for her. She didn't want to be found, she didn't know what she wanted. So, she pressed her back against a pillar under the pier, trying to make herself less noticeable. She pressed her knees up to her chest, tucking her head into her knees with her arms wrapped around. Maybe he wouldn't notice, he could easily miss the lump of her form sitting there like unmolded clay beneath him. And he did, leaning over to glance below at the pylons and missing her completely.

The blood still dripped from her nearly-fresh, compound wounds on her ankle, staining the sand a bright crimson below her as water lapped at her toes, drawing rivulets of that blood out into the sea. She wasn't crying anymore; her tear ducts were dry. She waited 'til he passed, before jumping up and running the other direction, down the beach. The sand burned as tiny crystals lodged themselves in the open wounds, etching impending infection into them.

She resorted to running down near the water's edge, where it could lap over her feet as she ran, the sand more firm here and easier to run over. Unfortunately for her, a different group of people who had been searching for her were starting to close in again, and she ran smack into a bewildered Tony. her least-favourite person.

" _And you don't need to bother;_

 _I don't need to be_

 _(I don't need to be)._

 _I'll keep slipping farther;_

 _But once I hold on,_

 _I won't let go 'til it bleeds."_

Tony tried to keep a grip on her, his fingers barely grazing her as he scrabbled for her elbow, but couldn't. She wriggled free and, wheeling around to dash away once more, crashed directly into Jay, who fell to the sand with her with a resounding 'oomph!'. She landed in his lap, attempting to squirm off, but he was holding onto her sides tightly.

"Yo, calm down New Girl! What's wrong with you today? Crying, sitting on beaches alone, hiding under piers, running from everyone… bleeding, what did you do?" He listed most of her recent activities, if you could call them that.

"Nothin'," she protested, still trying to wriggle away from him, but found she was now surrounded by a few people who formed a ring. She gave up trying to escape their company, but managed to shove herself away from Jay, plopping into the sand next to him, rocking back and forth and hugging her knees.

"OK. Back off, everyone move. Get on with your lives, let me through, damnit!" She heard Stacy making his way through the small crowd. "Geez, we'll see you all later, I swear, everything will be fine. Go about your business," he commanded.

Relief flooded through her. Over the course of the seemingly-short week, Danger found herself becoming closest with Stacy. Maybe, it was because he seemed to understand her or something. It was a strange pull that had sort of drawn them together. Call it fate, but they really connected on what Danger would call a 'higher level'. The blonde helped her up, leading her away from the crowd, muttering random things to random people while passing. She regretted running from him in the first place; things would've gone much more smoothly if she had. They walked to Stacy's car together, and he slung his arm across her back.

" _(You)You don't need to bother;_

 _I don't need to be_

 _(I don't need to be)._

 _I'll keep slipping farther;_

 _But once I hold on_

 _(Once I hold on)..._

 _I'll never live down my deceit."_

30 minutes later, Danger's problems were beginning to unravel, pouring out of her and running through Stacy's head like an overloaded freight train. They sat in his car as he drove aimlessly, and she recounted the story of how she came to be where she was. The sister's ex-boyfriend, problems with family, death of family members, self-mutilation, being taken advantage of by those she thought would protect her… the list rambled on and on. Then, there were the unsavory deeds previously-detailed. This girl needed a full-blast psychologist. Mostly, he just nodded and ' _mhmm_ 'ed at the appropriate points, but it was comforting for her to finally get it all out.. She now felt confident enough to explain the current situation.

Pulling to a stop in front of his home, where they inevitably ended up, he led her inside and motioned for her to sit on the couch. His father, who was sitting in a chair in front of the television, tipped his ice-filled glass at them as they entered, but said nothing. Stacy returned momentarily with some antiseptic. The cuts on her ankle were not excessively deep, just a little rough of course, but that was to be expected. She surrendered her razor to Stacy, who tossed it into the trash and made her promise not to do anything of that sort again, because no one around here (especially he) wanted her to die, before cleaning the sand out with the antiseptic and wrapping the wounds with a roll of bandage left over from a previous skate-related injury.

"You want to go visit some friends?" He asked cautiously, gauging the situation and deciding she could use a change of pace to get her mind off the day's events.

"I guess," she responded. "Let's get something to eat first?"

He kissed the bridge of her nose, the beginning of a habit forming, and led her hand-in-hand back out to his car, making their way to a restaurant in a comfortable, soothing silence. Afterward, the pair continued on to Zephyr.

( **A/N 2** : Pronounce 'Dany' like 'Day-nie'.)


	5. I Just Want Us to Be

(DISCLAIMER: Still only own original characters. I do not own 'Ode to Billie Joe', that's Bobbie Gentry's, or any other lyrics. I don't own Erin, either. Erin owns Erin.)

 **A/N** : Erin was one of my first reviewers who I wrote into this story because she was so awesome. If you're still reading this, you're awesome, girl!

" _Until you're safe and sound;u_ _Until you're safe and sound.  
_ _There's beauty in release, t_ _here's no one left to please,  
_ _But you and me."_

 _\- Safe and Sound_ , Sheryl Crow

 _Chapter 5: I Just Want Us to Be_

 _Narrator POV_

" _And Mama said to me: Child, what's happened to your appetite?  
_ _I've been cookin' all morning and you haven't touched a single bite.  
_ _That nice young preacher, Brother Taylor dropped by today;  
_ _Said he'd be pleased to have dinner on Sunday, oh, by the way…  
_ _He said he saw a girl that looked a lot like you up on Choctaw Ridge;  
_ _And she and Billie Joe was throwing somethin' off the Tallahatchie Bridge."_

It was late at night. Bobbie Gentry's haunting voice blasted over the speakers at a high volume, gently rocking the car which was stopped at a red light. Danger sat in the candy apple-red Mustang with her mother, a black-haired woman with a sweet face and kind eyes. Both sang along with the lyrics wildly, belting out the sad song without a care in the world, disregarding the stares they were collecting from the people on the streets as they rolled through their tiny, Texan hometown near Galveston. Danger was probably about eight years old, and loved her mother dearly. It was just her and Mama, no father to bother them. Mother and daughter loved each other dearly. Her sister lived with their grandmother, a choice she'd made as a young teen; she was hyper-focused on her high school studies and preferred to stay in one place, rather than roam the country with their mom. Danger frequently missed school to go on these adventures, and it gave her positively some of her best childhood memories. Back before everything went wrong, back when she still had a mom, life was good.

That day, the pair was returning from a trip they had taken to Southern California. Danger's new surfboard lay across the back seat, with a few pieces of random clothing strewn haphazardly throughout the car. Whenever they got the chance to do this, they'd jump in the car with whatever they could stuff into the trunk and have as much fun as physically possible. Her mother taught her to surf when she was very little; she practically grew up doing it. Their town was right near the ocean. Coming back to California had hit her hard, bringing these memories to the forefront of her brain.

" _A year has come 'n' gone since we heard the news 'bout Billie Joe;  
_ _And Brother married Becky Thompson, they bought a store in Tupelo.  
_ _There was a virus going 'round, Papa caught it and he died last spring;  
_ _And now Mama doesn't seem to wanna do much of anything.  
_ _And me, I spend a lot of time pickin' flowers up on Choctaw Ridge,  
_ _And drop them into the muddy water off the Tallahatchie Bridge."_

 _POV – Martika_

I watched as a tear slid from one of her eyes, her sleeping form whimpering and rolling over in bed. Yes, bed. Let me explain better. Danger finally caved and agreed to stay with me. I lent her the bed across from me in my small, one-bedroom house, the place of so many parties I couldn't even count. I'd been up all night. I couldn't sleep for some reason, but it wasn't Danger's fault. It had nothing to do with her. I was thinking about Tony, I just could not get Tony Alva out of my brain for the life of me. No amount of generating other potential thought topics in my head seemed distract my mind from wandering to him, lingering in our last interaction.

Across from Danger in the third out of four beds in my room, my other friend Becky was also fast asleep. She crashed with me occasionally, and would help with rent when she could. The room was practically stuffed to the gills, so full of the four beds barely any room was allotted for any other furniture. I tried to always have at least one bed free at all times, hence the unusual number of them in the house.

I'd gone with Tony before, but we broke it off because we decided to be 'just friends'. Really, he just didn't want me anymore. He wanted Blanca. I'd hung on to his every word, let him drag me around to every skate competition, every party, every pool session our entire relationship. I let him take me to bed. I'd say that's one of the biggest mistakes I've carried in my life. I take that back; it was the biggest mistake I'd ever made. He'd said he loved me, and I had believed him. But I also knew I'd let him reel me back in if faced with him. Again, and again. That was what I got for dating guys who were younger than me; 'incorrigible' didn't even begin to cover it with him.

Then, last week, I went to that party at his house with Danger, after she begged me. I didn't want to go; I didn't know if I could take seeing him again. It was a bad idea, and I'd been specifically avoiding him, even going so far as to turn off the lights and refuse to answer the door whenever he'd show up at my place. I was especially wary, because I knew how he got at these parties.

I guess I shouldn't have gone, being tipsy already like I was, because I ended up in a closet with him. I listened to his drunken confessions, how he still loved me, blah blah blah, and I knew it was the liquor talking, but somehow, I believed he meant it. Not to my surprise, he actually went down on me in that closet, bass booming. As soon as we were out of the closet, he was all over Blanca again. I allowed myself to believe he just needed some time to say goodbye. I had to believe it, or I'd never be able to muster looking at him again.

I decided to leave, and whilst on my way home, I ran across my longtime friend Erin. I've known her forever. She's helped me sort things out before, and my problem this time with Tony was no different. She was always so calm, how could she always be so dang calm? I have the patience of an infuriated goat. God, that sounds sucky. So, she let me stay at her place that night. I could've gone home, but I didn't. I needed to be away from my roommates for the night. They could find their own way through the always-unlocked back door if needed. There was nothing of value worth stealing in the house, so I usually just left it.

 _POV_ _– Danger_

My dream-scene changed. It was the day my mother was killed.

 _They rushed to the hospital, but it was too late. She was dead before we arrived. We'd been in New York, in the Bronx on spring break, visiting old family friends. I was twelve. The car crapped out on us again, so we were walking back to Emilie's house, the one we'd been visiting. I heard shots ringing out in the distance, probably gang warfare, it was later determined. We didn't realize how close they were; suddenly, someone flew around the corner at full-speed, running at us. People were behind him. They shot. My mother dove in front of me, inadvertently shielding the guy as well, who had dodged between us. The bullet hit her, and they all scattered. A witness at a coffee shop called the cops. The cops took forever to get there, like they didn't care. The paramedics gave her plasma, loaded her into the truck, let me come with them inside, even if it was against procedure; there was really nothing else they could do with me. She died before the ambulance arrived. As soon as they stopped at the hospital and she was pronounced dead, I ran. I ran as far as my long twelve-year-old legs would carry me._

That was how I ended up on the missing child list. I went back to our car, got our money from all mom's secret hiding places, and hopped on a bus. I remembered going as far as the bus could take me on a measly $200. Ended up somewhere in Ohio. I only kept a little cash for necessities. I had a job sweeping up in a factory in Indiana and, by the time I was fourteen, had gained enough courage and money to get back to Texas, where my older sister Gina, who was 25, still lived. Her boyfriend was a drug fiend, and this introduced me to the world of smuggling. He used me as a drug mule for at least six months, before loaning me to a prostitution ring to run messages between the locations. It was the most disgusting job I'd ever had the misfortune of working, it felt so wrong to assist in trafficking. That was what I'd been running from as I escaped to sunny California; to put all that behind me. Well, that, and to avoid becoming one of those trafficked girls myself.

I remembered the day I arrived in Dogtown, about two weeks ago. Everyone stared; I guess everyone knows everyone around here. It could also have been because I had a boys' haircut, but was dressed like a girl, with my sweatshirt wrapped around my waist. I probably looked funny, with my whiskey bottle clutched in my hand. Finally, the stares were beginning to get to me, so I put the hoodie on and flipped the hood up. Everywhere, I saw groups of boys skating and such, and I ended up slumping down to the beach. That was how I had gotten here, fleeing a hellish 'odd-job' life for a newly-sixteen-year-old to have experienced.

 _POV – Stacy_

I was having a really hard time processing my emotions. I didn't really know if I liked her as more than a friend, but guessed we'd find out sooner or later. She'd only been there two weeks at that point, what could I possibly have known about her, right? Sometimes, I get carried away, and wish I wasn't such a sensitive guy. I don't know why. You'd probably think I was insane to say that. I hate parties, you know? I know, I know, random, but hey, I can't help it - I really am trying here. No, I pushed the thought from my mind; I didn't think I liked her in that way.

...that wasn't true. I lied to myself all the time, but I never believed me. Maybe I should've talked to someone… no. That would've just confused me more. Jay likes that Becky girl, he's been harassing her more than usual lately… Tika definitely had her hands full with that house of hers. It was rapidly filling up with a band of misfit girls.

My car was in the shop, so I had to bike to work that day. It was unseasonably cool, and my teeth chattered as the air rushed past. This 6 AM start time was a killer. If I'd wanted to surf, I'd have had to go at 4 to have enough time to enjoy myself.

 _POV – Martika_

Eventually, I'd drifted off at about two in the morning, which was really stupid on my part cuz I had to work at 7:00 AM, anyway. That girl… you know, it took me three hours and an entire fifth of Jack Daniels (thanks a lot, Jay) to persuade her to stay here in one of my spare beds? My friend Becky was already staying in one while she figured out some things that'd been weighing on her. All you needed to know about Becky was that she was kind of one of the awesomest people on the face of the planet. In a way. I always kind of envied her. A lot of people liked her, (*coughJaycough*), and she was a total hippie.

She stood about 5'5", her almond eyes were a beautiful, sparkling bluish-green, her hair a slightly wavy, reddy-blonde, and her personality the total opposite of mine. Now you see why I envied her? She was beautiful, smart, everyone liked her, and it was physically impossible to get mad at her. I looked so boring, you could lose me in a sea of other Spanish chicks. I didn't want to get up, but I forced myself to drag my body out of Erin's spare room and clean myself up before my shift at the factory. We worked 12's, and when I worked nights, I'd sometimes work with Jay's mom. We worked in a lamp factory, socket-bending line. Philaine fell behind quota a lot, and I often found myself fixing extra units. If she hadn't had a drink yet that night, she'd be shaky and it would cause her to mess up a little.

I didn't mind doing it, if it helped Jay out, though the other women kind of hated me for it since no one was helping i _them_ /i keep up. Jay was one of the youngest in that group, along with Paul C., Sid, and Wentzle. And Danger. They were the babies of the dog pack, and though Jay acted the baddest and toughest of all of them, he did take good care of his mom. He would often pop up at our work and mess with stuff, distract the foremen so mom could catch up. Since I was working days that particular week, I wouldn't see her. Flip-flopping my schedule every other week was exhausting. Truthfully, I was more than a little glad when Danger offered some cash from her job, which couldn't use direct-deposit since she didn't have a bank account. I really had no idea how she planned to get her own place with no ID, no birth certificate, no – nothing to identify her.

 _POV_ _– Becky_

I didn't think Danger would remember me, but we met once before. Actually, we didn't really 'meet'; I stopped and talked to her one day at the record store. I was looking for some Hendrix music, and she was standing next to the rack, looking at a Janis Joplin record. We only said hi, I suggested a Grateful Dead album to her and we went our separate ways, but it was sort of a meeting.

That Jay, he was something else. He did a lot of stupid shit. I watched him at Del Mar, though, a couple weeks ago, and ya know what? He wasn't half-bad, when he wasn't clowning around and showing off for his friends. The boy could get downright slap-happy, even when he was on a skateboard. I was there, as an independent. Obviously, someone there thought I had talent, cuz I got 2nd in the women's division in one of the trick-competition runs, right after some chick named Peggy. She was good, too. She had on a 'Zephyr' shirt, so I guess she's got more skills than me, since she's actually on a team. Even if it was just dumb Skip Engblom's team. I wished I was on a comp team. I also wished Jay would leave me alone for a bit and lay off the harassment. I don't understand him, he's always criticizing me and it gets on my last nerve. My brain would be fried if I let him in there all the time.

I thought maybe I needed to go to Zephyr tomorrow for a new surfboard, if that idiot who owns it isn't being an ass like usual… I was a local, but I wasn't one of i _his_ /i locals. He once told me I 'wasn't a pirate', whatever that meant, when I wiped out while surfing and decided to call it quits for the day.

 _POV_ _– Danger_

I decided I needed to go to Zephyr the next day for a skateboard. Lord knew I'd probably kill or otherwise maim myself massively trying to remember how to ride one of those things, but it was something to keep me occupied when the surf was crap. Which had been increasingly lately. Damn, must've been getting into an early-summer lull. At least skateboarding was somewhat like surfing, but on land. With more painful ground to land on than smacking yourself on water.

* * *

 _ **A/N**_ _#2: So, there's a bit of some other characters' lives in this chapter, because I was getting tired of writing about our dear, angsty friend Danger for chapters on end.)_


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